


Tough Questions

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [38]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Family Issues, Gen, M/M, POV Justin Taylor, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble brews when Gus discovers Brian and Justin don't ever plan to get married. When nobody else can get through to Gus, Justin is left to deal with a very difficult line of questioning from a very stubborn-minded eight-year-old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Questions

Normally, arriving in Toronto is a big deal. There's always a lot of fanfare, which lessens the sting of having to be apart from Gus and Mel and Linds for so long. I've gotten used to seeing Gus waiting by the mailbox as the cab pulls up, holding balloons or waving a sign covered in glitter. Linds and Mel are likely to be waiting on the porch with a plate of warm cookies, which are then likely to be cold by the time the hugging is done. It's like coming home in a way; a home away from home, I guess. 

Tonight's weird enough already because Brian's not with me. I missed the flight we were supposed to be on together, and then the next one I could book was delayed while they waited for fog to clear over Toronto. As the cab finally rolls into Mel and Linds' street, Gus isn't by the mailbox. My first though is it's probably too cold for him. When I get out of the cab, Mel and Linds and Brian are waiting on the porch. Gus and JR are nowhere to be seen. Mel is pacing. Brian and Linds are both smoking. All three of them are nursing drinks. My stomach starts to sink. I grab my bags and pay the driver quickly, then rush up the path to greet them.

There aren't any of the hugs or warm greetings I've grown accustomed to from Mel and Linds. Linds forces a smile at me, looking vaguely guilty. Mel finishes her drink and swishes the ice cubes around idly. Instead of leaping up to kiss me like he normally would, Brian sinks further into his seat and scowls at me. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I texted you about the delay," I put my bags down and go to kiss him. He  _stinks_ of smoke. If the overflowing ash trays are anything to go by, they've all been chain-smoking out here. "Plus traffic was shit. What's up?"

Mel huffs and glares at Brian. He glares back and makes a big point of pouring himself another glass of whiskey, emptying the bottle. At that, Mel looks just about ready to snap his neck. Linds grimaces at me apologetically, then lights another cigarette. Nobody explains anything. I glance between the three of them. "What the fuck is going on? It's like a Mexican standoff out here."

"Gus got given The World According To Brian Kinney this afternoon," Mel snaps. "He should have lots to talk about at school on Monday morning. It'll make a great edition of Show and Tell! He can tell all his friends how much daddy dearest detests marriage."

"Don't make this my fault," Brian snarls. "I didn't fill his head with hetero nonsense, and I didn't ask him to throw a huge shit fit."

"Oh, I am going to-" Mel cuts herself off before she can finish her threat, reconsiders, and then deftly snatches his glass of whiskey. They exchange death glares as she takes a drink. I go to stand behind Brian's chair and put my hands on his shoulders, kneading them slightly to calm him down. It doesn't seem to do much good.

"Gus went to a wedding last weekend," Linds sighs. "He and his friend Ruby were flower boy and girl. It's been weddings, weddings, weddings ever since - he's obsessed."

"And now he wants  _us_ to get married," Brian says, half-laughing. "He wasn't exactly pleased when I told him it's not happening."

"Imagine that," mutters Mel.

"I was being honest!"

"He's eight years old, you didn't have to crush him!"

"It was not that bad," Linds says, the calmest by far. "Brian was very reasonable and very gentle."

Mel scoffs. "Like fuck he was!"

"He  _was._ But Gus has his heart set on this, and he wasn't ready to hear 'no'." She looks at me despairingly. "He's up in his room and he won't let any of us in. He screams his head off if we come anywhere near."

"Where's J.R.?"

"She's with our friends for the night, thank God," Mel exhales sharply. "I've never seen Gus throw a tantrum like this."

Brian glances up at me. "You need to fix it."

"I need to what?"

They all look at me and nod in unison. It's kind of creepy. Brian echoes, slowly and emphatically, "You. Need. To. Fix. It."

"Go and talk to him," urges Linds. "He's not mad at you so far. He'll listen to you."

Brian grabs my hands and removes them from his shoulders. "Go. Now."

I start towards the front door, unsettled by this tense greeting and unsure of what to do about Gus. Before I can go inside, Mel grabs my sleeve and holds me back. 

"Let's not send him up there unarmed," she says, squeezing my arm. "Let's catch you up to speed."

*

After they've run me through the war thus far, I'm pushed up the stairs to battle, with Brian insisting repeatedly that I 'fix it'. Underneath his grouchiness, I spy panic; he and Gus have never fought before, and from what I've just heard, this one has been a knock-out.

Gus' door stands out from all the others. It has the same plush lettering that J.R. has on hers, spelling out their names in bright yellow. The rest of the door is stickers and drawings, layered over and over each other. I take a moment to admire it, since there are fresh layers that have appeared since my last visit. Then I knock on the door. I've got my work cut out for me, apparently; at the first knock, he howls, "Go away!"

"Gussy, it's Jus," I call. "Can I come in?"

He ponders silently for a while, then there's a muffled mutter: "Okay, but only you."

I ease the door open and scan the room; he's holed himself up in a bright orange tent in the middle of the room. Actually, it's basically the whole room. I can't even see his bed or his desk anymore, only the huge orange tent. There's a light waving around inside, like he's playing with a torch or something. "Nice tent you've got here."

"Moms and I went camping," he mumbles from inside, sounding thoroughly miserable. 

"Maybe we could go camping sometime." I kneel down and rifle through my pockets for part of the gift I promised him. "I owed you a present, didn't I?"

There's a sudden sound of excited rustling as he scampers to unzip the tent. He peeks his face through. "What did you get me?"

"I saved you my snacks, like always," I hold up the bags of peanuts and candies. Gus snakes his hand out and grabs them. "You can have your proper present at dinner."

He scowls at me. "I'm not going to dinner."

The words are ice-cold and iron-clad. Fuck.

"Huh," I shrug, managing to mask the growing sense of worry I feel. Staying cool, calm and collected is a must right now. It's no good pushing him; he'll only dig his heels in further. Years with Brian has prepared me well for Gus' stubborn mentality. "Well, if we can't have dinner together, can I hang out here for a while?"

Gus blinks his big blue eyes at me thoughtfully. "Just you?"

"Just me."

He grins and giggles, "Just Justin."

He's still giggling as he unzips the tent and crawls back to let me in. Gus holds out his arms, showing off his carefully constructed kingdom. "This is my tent. You can have the beanbag."

The way he says this implies this is an incredibly important offering. I thank him solemnly and sink into the plush beanbag. It's a huge relief after being crammed into airport and airplane seats for hours on end. Gus grabs his torch and wriggles into his sleeping bag, squirming all the way down until I can only see the top of his head and the light of the torch bouncing around as he flicks it on and off.

"Gussy?"

"Yeah?"

"I haven't seen you in two months; it might be nice to see your face."

He peers out at me suspiciously. "It might be nice if you and dad got married. Why won't you?"

"We almost did. Do you remember that?"

"No," sulks Gus, looking like he doesn't believe me.

"You were pretty young, I guess, and we were only engaged for a little while. It was nice," I say, shrugging in concession. It was nice. Really, really nice. I find myself touching my ring finger, tracing the length of it. "We had these rings, they... they were really beautiful."

"So why didn't you  _use them_ to get married?" He hurls the words at me like darts, with expert precision. Bullseye.

"That's kind of a tough question."

"I  _like_ tough questions."

"I know," I grin at him. "You're good at them, too."

Gus rolls onto his tummy and props his chin on top of his hands, watching me curiously. Shit, I hope he's not about to figure out I have no idea what I'm doing. Parenting is no easy task; all I've figured out so far is to copy Mel, Linds, and Brian, imitate my own mom, and do everything else the exact opposite of what my dad did. He wouldn't have had this conversation with me. He hardly ever had conversations with me. Any communication between us was very one-sided. All of my tough questions were met with silence, or a 'go to your room', or patronising laughter. I think the laughter was the worst. That really stung. Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut.

I can't copy Mel and Linds now, because they're banned from the land of Gus, and I can't ask Brian for advice because he only has two words in his vocabulary for me right now and they're  _fix it,_ otherwise known as the impossible task. How am I supposed to fix something all on my own, when the three of them couldn't handle it? All I know right now is not to yell, or laugh, or stay silent. So talking it is - I guess I'll just talk and we'll figure out the rest as we go along. I lean forward and ask softly, "You remember why your moms left Pittsburgh, right?"

"Because it wasn't the right place for our family." He says this like it's a line he's rehearsed over and over, and I'm not really sure he understands what it means. I'm not sure I want him to - definitely not yet, and maybe not ever. There is always this underlying urge to wrap Gus up and make him nice and safe; to keep him shielded from the world. I don't want him finding out how ugly it can be. Is that so terrible?

It's fucking unrealistic, is what it is, but hey - a father can dream. Especially one who's brand new to the whole thing and still desperately trying to find his feet.

"Right, it wasn't where you and moms and J.R. belonged. There was a lot that made them feel that way. But there was one night that was really bad. I'm not going to tell you all about it now - you can ask me about it again when you're older, okay?"

Gus sighs, but nods in understanding. He's a good kid. I smile at him. "Okay, cool. Thanks Gussy. All I want to say right now is that it was scary and I almost got hurt. Your dad got really frightened."

He perks up a little, frowning. "Dad gets frightened?"

"Everyone gets frightened. I was terrified. Anyway, we were both scared, and that's around when your dad proposed. I guess he wanted to prove we were still okay. That we were still each other's." 

He looks kind of perplexed, so I add, "You know how when you have a nightmare, you come running to your moms or to dad and me?"

"Yeah."

"That's what it was like. We were running to something safe and grabbing on," I pause and he nods, like he gets it. "Except it wasn't the right fit. We had all these ideas for getting married and how the wedding would be, and moving out to this big beautiful house... but it was like... like a house of cards, you know?"

Gus' eyes light up; we built an awesome house of cards last Christmas and managed to make it halfway through the pack before it collapsed. It was our pride and joy. "It was awesome, wasn't it? That huge house of cards. It looked amazing. But then you have to be so careful..."

"Or it all comes falling down!" He shouts this out like he's getting an answer right in class, with a big proud smile lighting up his face. Then it drops away as he starts to realise what I mean.

"Gussy, it wouldn't have lasted. It wasn't right for us."

Gus groans and buries his head in his hands. " _But. You. Love. Each. Other!"_

"Of course we do. I love your dad more than I ever thought I could every love anybody. But we weren't supposed to get married."

Gus groans again and sprawls out, mashing his face into the floor of the tent. "You're not making any  _seeeeeense_."

"Well, what do you think being married means?"

He rises up and starts counting off on his fingers: "It means you love each other. It means you'd be husbands. It means you wear your nice rings. It means people know what you are. It means you're each other's." 

"Gussy, we do love each other. People do know what we are. We are each other's."

Showing off the flair for rapid-fire interrogation he's learned from Mel, Gus instantly retorts, "And what about being HUSBANDS and wearing the rings?"

Husbands. He keeps saying that word like it's all-important and the be-all and end-all of everything. I  _never_ thought I would hear any child of Brian's endorsing marriage so enthusiastically. I mean -  _husbands._ It's just not a word that fits for me and Brian. Maybe I need to wean Gus off it, or at least add a few others to his vocabulary. 

"We're partners," I say, trying to infuse as much meaning into that word -  _our word -_ as Gus does into 'husbands'. Gus frowns. I watch him carefully, because it can't be easy for an eight-year-old to understand the kind of relationship Brian and I have. Hell, it took me years to wrap my head around it. Getting on board with a non-defined, non-conventional relationship is kind of like jumping aboard a moving train. "Being partners means we're committed to each other. It means we intend to spend our lives together. It's a lot like being husbands, I guess. And as for the rings, we know what we mean to each other without those."

Gus throws his head into his hands and grumbles some more. I sit back and let him simmer for a little bit, partly to give him a breather, but mostly to give  _me_ a breather. 

Once I've collected my thoughts, I call his name gently: "Gussy?"

"Hmph?" 

"Got any more tough questions for me?"

He looks up at me with a smile that says  _of course._ It's two parts affectionate and one part pure evil. I shift in the beanbag to make room for him, and he comes worming over, still half inside the sleeping bag. As he joins me, I hug him close.

"Ruby's moms said it was the happiest day of their life," he says, resting his head on my shoulder. "Don't you want a happiest day of your life?"

"I've had lots of happiest days of my life," I kiss the top of his head gently. "You don't necessarily need a wedding to have the happiest day of your life."

He sighs loudly, like he thinks I'm completely full of shit, then asks wearily, "What were yours then?"

"So far?" I hum thoughtfully, sifting through my favourite days for ones that are G-rated - or, at least, some that can be easily censored. "Well, the night I met your dad was pretty special. That was the night I met you, too, when you were born."

This brightens his mood by a long shot. Gus grins from ear to ear and snuggles into my side. "But what about when he  _proposed?_ That must have been the best day _ever."_

I laugh a little, impressed by his persistence, and nod, because he's not exactly wrong. "That was a great day. It was so romantic - your dad can be really, really... what's the word?"

"Lovey-dovey?" 

"I was going to say schmoopy," I laugh, and Gus dissolves into giggles. "But lovey-dovey works too. He can be really, really lovey-dovey when he wants to be. Yeah, that was one of the best days of my life. The ones after it were amazing too. You know what was better though? The day your dad moved to New York with me. Has he ever told you that story?"

"Nope."

It was a few months after I'd left Pittsburgh, and my work was being featured in a gallery in Brooklyn. I'd been visiting every day, looking for something - I couldn't quite figure out what. Every time I visited, new imperfections popped up - the frames were slightly off-kilter, the paint was a shade too light, the paint was a shade too dark, the subjects didn't look like themselves. I couldn't figure out what was wrong, so I'd keep coming back every day after lunch to stare at them and try and figure out how to fix them. But since there was a new problem to discover every time I returned, it was impossible to find a solution, and I'd just leave in a rotten mood and spend the rest of the day stewing in my studio, half-finishing pieces that left me feeling completely hopeless.

Then one Thursday, the third-last day my paintings would be on display in the gallery, I went before lunch because just the thought of them was bugging the shit out of me. I was standing there staring at the one in the middle of the back wall. The frame looked crooked on the wall (it wasn't). The subject didn't look like herself (she did). The paint was too light in places and too dark in others (it was fine). Then just as I was about to tear the damn thing off the wall, arms wrapped around my waist and Brian whispered in my ear, "I  _love_ your piece."

Then he grabbed me through my jeans and laughed. Blind-sided, I spun around and threw myself at him, not even caring that people were staring. I think I may have screamed. Brian still insists that I screamed. I remember him crushing me in a hug, holding me and spinning me, and that was all that mattered. At one point I remember looking at the painting over his shoulder, and it was fine. It was great. It wasn't my work that had been upsetting me, after all.

We went to lunch, not keeping our hands off each other for even a second.  Grasping one of his hands in my left and clutching his forearm with my right, I remember I asked him when he had to leave, because as much as I didn't want to know, I also didn't want any nasty surprises. Maybe it was just a quick trip. Maybe he'd be gone by the next morning. Instead, Brian smiled and said, "Not for a while."

"So... Monday?" The thought of a long weekend together seemed like the best thing ever, but Brian shook his head. "Tuesday?  _Wednesday?"_

There are parts of that day that are fuzzy, but I remember what he said next as clearly as if he were saying it now: "I'm not going back. If you'll have me, I'd like to stay here with you."

Apparently at that stage, my jaw dropped. Or so Brian claims. Since I was speechless, he kept right on going, and I remember all that perfectly, too: "I don't want to do this anymore, this long distance bullshit. I miss you all the time and I feel like shit knowing how miserable you are when we're apart. I'm fucking miserable too. You know, a few months ago... we were supposed to be getting married. And I know that wasn't right for us, I know it wouldn't have lasted, but lately I feel like I'd give anything to be in that goddamned country manor with you, because even if it's not right at least we'd be together. But that's not going to happen. I see you here, and you look right at home. And New York has been my dream since I was a kid."

Then he took my hands, and said, "You were right - we don't need rings or vows. And we don't need a country mansion. But I need to be in your life,  _properly_ in your life, and I want that life to be right here."

Then, according to Brian at least, I started to cry. I don't think I did. I'm pretty sure I just teared up and drowned him in a hug and more kisses.

Of course, as I tell Gus all of this, I leave out the groping and the cursing and all of our other lewd and lascivious behaviours. I don't tell him how we spent the next week in bed. I only tell him that it was one of the best things to ever happen to me, to  _us_ , and that it meant more than any wedding or honeymoon ever would have. As much as my younger self might have loved the idea of having a husband and a home in the country, the person I've grown up to be is enamored of the reality of living in New York with his partner. Sharing a life like this with Brian is more than I could have ever hoped for. I think it was during our fourth day straight in bed that I asked Brian if he was sure, and after wrestling me and admonishing me, he said something like, "Sunshine, we could really be  _something_ here."

And we are. We really are  _something._ More than I ever thought I could be on my own, more than I think Brian ever thought he could be, more than I ever thought Brian would let us be, more than I ever thought any two people could be together. I tell Gus this, and he cozies up to me even more, smiling contentedly. I kiss the top of his head. "Anyway, that was the happiest day of my life. And I've had a lot of other happiest days since."

"What do you think mine will be?"

"The happiest day of your life?" I touch his chin and he tilts his head up to look at me. "I don't know, Gussy. That's up to you to figure out."

"I think it'll be the ones where we're all together," he says, smiling a little. "I like it when it's you and dad and moms. And sometimes J.R. too, I guess."

He wrinkles his nose a bit, the way I used to about Molly when we were really young and at constant odds with each other. I muss his hair and ask, "She's out tonight, huh?"

Gus nods. I muss his hair some more. "Then it's just you and me and dad and moms. Maybe we should go join them for dinner."

He buries his face in my sleeve and mumbles, "They're mad at me."

"Nobody's mad at you."

He shakes his head rapidly, clinging to me. "I was mean to dad. I yelled at moms."

"So let's go downstairs, and you can tell them that you're sorry and that you love them. That'll make it all better." 

Gus looks up at me doubtfully. I kiss his forehead and promise, "It'll all be okay."

He drops his head and grumbles a little bit, and I sit back and give him some time to angst. I notice that he's dropped the torch by my feet, so I pick it up and press it to my chin. I catch his attention as I click the switch on and off, and Gus glances up to see the light transforming my face into scary faces. A grin spreads over his face and he giggles and giggles. That seems to solve it; as soon as I put the torch down, Gus gathers himself and stands up with an air of determination. "Let's go."

I smile at him and agree, "Let's."

Gus wriggles out of his beloved sleeping bag, then unzips the tent. I follow him out and scoop him up, letting him crawl onto my back and hang there with his arms snug around my neck. Gus presses his face into my shoulder and lets me carry him downstairs.

Everyone's waiting in the dining room; Mel and Brian are finishing setting the table, each on one side of the table, while Linds sits at the head, probably supervising them (never a bad idea when sharp silverware is involved).They all freeze when we enter. Gus freezes too, tensing up so much I practically have to pry him off me. I ease him down onto the floor, where he stays frozen for a moment, his hand gripping my wrist. I touch his back lightly, pushing him in Brian's direction. Apparently that's all the encouragement needed - Gus takes a running leap at Brian, who catches him and buries him in a hug, swinging him back and forth. Mel crosses the room and throws her arms around me, whispering  _thanks_  while Gus and Brian apologise to each other and say their  _I love yous._ After the third time Brian says it, Gus giggles, "Stop being so schmoopy, dad."

"Stop being  _what_?"

"Nothing!" Gus squirms free and dives into Linds' embrace. Mel kisses me on the cheek and goes to join them.

Brian advances on me with an eyebrow arched. "Our kid just called me 'schmoopy'. You know anything about that?"

"No," I shrug, "Who knows where he gets that kind of stuff from?"

"Right," Brian grabs my hips and backs me up against the wall. "I knew you'd fix it. I don't know how you do it, Sunshine, but thank fuck you do."

I grab a fistful of his shirt and wrench him in real close. "Now that you're done sulking, can you maybe give me a proper greeting?"

"I think that can be arranged." Brian slides his fingers into my hair and, keeping me pressed snugly between his chest and the wall, devours me with a kiss.

"Dinner's ready!" Linds calls.

"Dad!" Gus jumps up onto his seat and points at the one next to him. "Come sit with me."

Brian flashes me a look of endless gratitude, and goes to join Gus. I sit down next to Mel and let her pour me a glass of wine.

"You've earnt it," she says, smiling at me. "Brian's right - I don't know how you do it, but thank God you do."

"What was that?" Brian leans across the table, smirking. "Did I hear someone say I was  _right?"_

"In this particular instance, yes," Mel says, narrowing her eyes ever-so-slightly at him. Gus watches the exchange curiously, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. 

"Maybe you could repeat that - slowly, so I can savour it."

"Who's hungry?" Linds arrives with perfect timing and platters of food in her arms. I jump up and help her set them down, and she kisses me on the cheek. Brian starts dishing up a meal for Gus. Linds and I sit down, and she asks, "So, Gussy... are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah," he nods eagerly. "Jus and Dad are partners and they love each other. I'm okay with that."

"I'm glad you approve," Brian says, leaning over to kiss Gus on the cheek. 

"Do you still have the rings? Jus said you had really beautiful rings."

Brian nods. "I'll show you the next time you come to New York."

"I didn't know you kept them," Linds says, smiling adoringly at Brian.

Mel smiles as well, and adds gently, "That's really sweet, Bri."

He just shrugs, like it's not a big deal. Like he doesn't have them on the mantle in our bedroom. Like he isn't hyper-vigilant about taking care of them. Like he didn't once, while  _ridiculously_  drunk, admit he wore his once or twice when we were still suffering through the months of long-distance bullshit.

"Anyway," Linds reaches over to touch Gus' cheek. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm okay," he agrees, grinning. "Dad and Jus don't have to get married. But we can talk about you guys having babies tomorrow, right?"

Brian chokes on his drink. Mel and Linds freeze again, except for their gaze flicking back and forth between me, Brian, and Gus. I open my mouth to say something and nothing comes out but a splutter, which makes a great companion to Brian's distressed coughing.

Then, all of a sudden, Gus laughs, "I'm just kidding! Jeez."

"Thank Christ," Brian exhales, surprisingly managing to avoid any of the colourful language he normally favours. "You're the only kid I'll ever need, Sonny Boy."

"Good," Gus sighs happily. "You'd better not change your mind, dad - I don't want any more babies showing up. I have enough trouble with J.R. as it is."

Mel and Linds burst out laughing, and Linds only just manages to chide, "Don't be cheeky about your sister."

"She's a pain in my butt," says Gus, scrunching up his face. Brian snorts and ruffles Gus' hair. Gus beams and starts interrogating Brian about what we'll be doing for the next two weeks. There's talk of movies and picnics, maybe a trip to the zoo, and about a million other activities Gus is desperate to cram in while we're here. By the time we've finished dessert, we've promised him story-time every night and Brian has even agreed to a sleepover in Gus' beloved tent. I've promised we'll have another go at our house of cards. Brian offers to help and Gus says yes about fifty times, almost shrieking with excitement.

I can barely keep track of all the promises, but I don't think it's going to matter much in the end whether we get to visit the zoo, or if we finish three different books, or if we can get through a whole deck with our house of cards. Like Gus said, the best days are ones where we're all together. We have a lot of that to look forward to - it's going to be a great two weeks.

**The End**


End file.
